


Beelzebub

by KilannaD



Series: What is it to be a Hero? [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe-Peter isn't spiderman, Gen, Humor, May Parker (Spider-Man) Dies, Peter Parker is Matt Murdock's Biological Child, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Sorry Not Sorry, devildad, he has a new name, i love my dorks, minor crack, minor fluff, no beta we die like ben, plot demanded it, soft angst, spideyson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27564484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilannaD/pseuds/KilannaD
Summary: Peter Benjamin Parker was fourteen years, ten months, and three days old when his Aunt May and Uncle Ben were shot by a mugger in front of him.It was six days later when their wills were read and they named one Matthew Murdock as Peter’s next of kin.__Or; Ben and May die, leaving Peter with his thus unmet father Matt. They figure out how their night time hobbies fit with that.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Peter Parker
Series: What is it to be a Hero? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014840
Comments: 35
Kudos: 397





	Beelzebub

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Can you hear the drumming?(there's a revolution coming)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20943335) by [Crescent_Blues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crescent_Blues/pseuds/Crescent_Blues). 



> So I've come to the conclusion that I'd die for Spideyson and devildad so here we are. Also, HUGE shout out to Crescent_Blues and their Antichrist Verse. My lifeblood and inspiration for this right here.  
> This will be a series of one-shots and I'm going to try and post every two weeks or so. We'll see how it goes.

Peter Benjamin Parker was fourteen years and eight months old the day he got bit by what could only be described as a radioactive spider. He was fourteen years, eight months, and five days old when he realized that said radioactive spider had apparently given him superpowers. And Peter Parker had just reached fourteen years, eight months and six days when he scrambled through his aunt’s desk looking for the anti-anxiety medication he knew she hid there and instead found The Letter.

Peter knew the story of how he’d been given to his aunt and uncle. Even remembered the day in question, as much as a five-year-old could. His mom had told him he’d be staying with May and Ben for a weekend, his dad had hugged Ben, patted him on the back before disappearing out of the door and their lives forever. His mom had cried, kissed him once on the forehead, and made May swear to watch out for him. In none of the stories May or Ben told, or in the blurry snapshots of his memories, was there The Letter. But here it sat, ink a little smeared from decade-old tears as it, in no uncertain terms, told May and Ben that Rich and Mary Parker might not make it back because they “knew too much”. Peter’s mom begged them to take care of Peter and said that she trusted them to “raise my boy right”.

It also said “his real father is a man named Matthew Murdock, but I never told Matt the truth. It didn’t matter to Rich and me. What you do with that is your choice.”

And like a kaleidoscope spreading and closing, Peter’s entire world shifted.

May and Ben had mentioned, during the puberty talk, that there were all sorts of relationships and that his parents had been in an open one. It hadn’t mattered to Peter much, considering he barely remembered his parents and he didn’t care what other people did with their lives.

Now though, it seemed much more important considering what Peter assumed was a one night stand had led to his conception.

He wished he could say he handled it alright. Wished that he only put on a mask and went out to help people because it was the right thing and not because his skin _crawled_. Not because his brain wouldn’t _shut up_.

Matthew Murdock was a blind lawyer who did a lot of Pro Bono work in Hell’s Kitchen. A good man, by everything Peter could find.

Peter wondered if he’d be proud of Peter if he knew. If Matt knew he had a son, if Matt knew his son helped people on the streets. Peter couldn’t bring himself to tell Ben and May about finding The Letter and that _hurt_ because he told them everything. He told them about the time he’d brought home a stray dog because it’d been starving. He told them about skipping class, about him and Ned slipping into the movies by a back door that one time. About _Skip._ But he couldn’t bring himself to tell them that he knew they’d been lying to him for the last nine years.

It wasn’t worth it, it didn’t really matter, they still loved him and he _knew that_. But more than anything, he didn’t think he could tell them without yelling and he hated yelling. His skin crawled though, it itched and burned and he could barely focus in class because all Peter could think about was that he had a _dad_ , he had more family that wasn’t dead and _no one had told him_.

It took a while, for Peter to place his feeling as _rage_. He didn’t quite know at what. The situation, maybe. The fact that he couldn’t quite find a way to go up to Matt Murdock and say _“I’m your son”_ but wanted to so badly. But when he figured out he was angry, he tried to let go of it. Aunt May had always said Peter had the strangest Parker temper ever. Ben and Rich, they exploded quickly at the big stuff, like when an experiment went wrong, or one of the criminals Ben caught didn’t get charged, but then they calmed down quickly. Peter didn’t do that though.

For him, the little things all built up and up and up and he didn’t do anything about it at first, until all of the little stuff became huge and he couldn’t take it anymore, the anger sizzling under his skin until he screamed, or punched Erik Kennedy for calling Ned fat. Uncle Ben said his temper reminded him of a snowball rolling down a hill until it hit a tree and exploded. Peter thought his anger burned too much for that, but just shrugged and tried to push it down. Peter didn’t like getting angry, didn’t like the way it made him feel itchy and drained.

Going out helped, a little. He didn’t make the news or anything which meant he didn’t have a superhero name like Daredevil. Peter helped people, though. When he figured out he was literally producing webs, he found ways to use them, to tie up criminals, to pull people out of the way. There were a few times when he punched too hard and he worried so he tried to keep his distance. And through it all the itch beneath his skin, the rage and questions, the growing want to meet his real father, it faded into the background.

Peter thought if he kept doing it, if he kept helping people, he could keep The Letter to himself.

Peter Benjamin Parker (Murdock) was fourteen years, ten months, and three days old when his Aunt May and Uncle Ben were shot by a mugger in front of him.

It was six days later (after being placed with Ned and his moms as emergency foster parents) when their wills were read and they named one Mathew Murdock as Peter’s next of kin.

* * *

Matthew Michael Murdock is literally elbow-deep in paperwork two hours after the office closed, trying to catch up the same as Foggy and Karen when his phone rings with an unknown number.

“Matthew Murdock.”

The woman on the other side uses the kind of fake voice all customer service people developed. Karen has one too, but this one sounds tired, like it’d been a long day. Which makes sense, considering most places closed two hours ago. And then his brain catches up with the words it heard and suddenly everything seems much more worrisome.

“ _Mr. Murdock? This is Ellen from the Office of Children and Family Services. A recently opened will names you the biological father of a child in our care and we’d like for you to come in for a paternity test before further discussions on custody and guardianship take place.”_

What the fuck.

Uh, no-no. No father here. Matt is physically, mentally, and emotionally _not a father_.

“I-uh, sorry, but I think you might have the wrong phone number.”

“ _You’re Matthew Michael Murdock?”_

“Well, yes. But I don’t have a child.”

“ _The will mentioned you hadn’t been informed of the child, which is why we’d like you to come in for a test.”_

“Who’s will, exactly? And what child?” Not Elektra, obviously. Because Elektra never got pregnant.

Wait. No. Wrong thought. _No woman_ he’d slept with had gotten pregnant. (Definitely no man.) He’s always been careful about that stuff. Matt hasn’t thought about kids because

_~~Murdock boys have the devil in them~~ _

he isn’t ready for them, hasn’t considered if he ever wanted them besides that one, silly conversation with Elektra before everything went wrong.

“ _The mother’s name was Mary Parker nee Simmons. I’m afraid any more information about the child is confidential until a positive paternity test._ ” Matt didn’t know any Mary Simmons-

But he did know a Mary Parker. And a Rich Parker. They’d been seniors at a party Matt’s first week as a freshman, newly married, and looking to celebrate. It’d been an amazing night but he’d never seen either of them again.

That can be said of a lot of Matt’s partners, actually, but none of them has ever claimed he’s gotten them pregnant. God, the kid must only be fifteen.

“ _Mr. Murdock?_ ”

“I’m still here.” A little. Physically, at least. Holyshit, is this kid actually his? Matt can’t be a dad. _Daredevil can’t be a dad_. The office has gotten an influx of cases since Fisk’s takedown three months ago, but they aren’t making a lot of money (if any). Matt works weird hours and the devil goes out at night, coming home so late it qualifies as early, usually covered in blood. The extra room in his apartment has work out stuff in it, not a teenagers room.

“ _Mr. Murdock, I understand this can be difficult to think about._ ” Did she though? Had she, at some point, found out she had a child she knew nothing about and suddenly had to deal with being a lawyer, a vigilante, and a parent all at once? Because he kind of doubts it. “ _I’d like to go ahead and find a good time for you to come take a paternity test.”_

“Y-yeah, yes alright. What available times to do you have? I’ll speak to my secretary.”

Ellen rattles off a series of times over the next three days as Matt steps out of his office. Karen and Foggy stop talking the moment his door opens but something must show on his face because their heartbeats speed up a little.

“Karen, when do I have appointments this week?” She makes a questioning sound in the back of her throat but lists the dozen or so names and times. Matt takes a second to mentally line up the two lists before saying, “Ellen, you mentioned tomorrow at 2:30 was available?”

“ _Yes, Mr. Murdock. Should I pencil you in for then?”_

“Please.” They make the appointment and Ellen gives an exhausted goodbye (why is a government employee working past five o’clock?) before hanging up.

Matt tries to focus on something, to bring the world back into picture, but all he can think about is the maybe fifteen-year-old son or daughter he maybe has who is staying…somewhere. Shit, he hadn’t even asked. In a foster home or orphanage probably and that makes him mad because Matt remembers the system, remembers the postage stamps he took from each home he went into, ripping different corners off them so he could figure out which home they came from by touch. He wonders if his kid would have enough time to start their list of homes (everyone kept track somehow) and then decides very firmly they absolutely will not. Matt won’t stand for it.

Not that Matt has a kid. Except he apparently maybe does.

What the _fuck_.

“Matt? You okay there buddy?”

“Who was that?”

“ _That_ ,” he begins but then has to stop because that had been child services telling him (Matt Murdock, Daredevil, _him_ ) he’s probably a dad and what the fuck.

“Matt?”

“That,” he starts again and forces the words past his lips, forces his hands through his hair so he doesn’t make a fist and punch a wall because _what the fuck_. “That was child and family services. I’ve been named the biological father and last living relative of a child in their care. They want me in for a paternity test to confirm.”

He has a fifteen-year-old that he knows nothing about. God, Mary and Rich had been geniuses, is their kid any different? Or do they take after Matt and go into liberal arts? What if they have Matt’s—the Murdock—temper?

Please, Lord, don’t let them have his temper.

Karen and Foggy, because they were the best friends a guy could have, seem to agree emphatically, considering the twin “ _what the fuck_ ”s.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s where I’m at.”

“Uh, okay.” Foggy drags his hands down his face, heart beating fast and sweat gathering at his neck. Karen leans back, her fold-out chair creaking with the movement.

“Who’s the kid?” she asked. “Girl, boy, name?”

“Wouldn’t tell me. Only told me the name of the mom.”

“Can you place it?” Okay, ow Foggy, way to have faith in your best friend. Even if, admittedly, Matt can’t place every name he’s slept with.

“Yeah. Mary Parker.”

“Girlfriend?” Karen asks at the same time as Foggy’s;

“One-night stand?”

Karen…maybe doesn’t know Matt so well yet.

“One night, with her and her husband in freshman year.”

“Holyshit, _Matt_.” Matt chooses to valiantly ignore Foggy’s patented _how are you so good at picking people up_ groan. It sounds an awful lot like his _you’re an idiot why am I friends with you_ grunt. Easily confused.

Or maybe Matt is just easily confused because he maybe has a kid. A fifteen-year-old child which he knows nothing about. And that he now has to parent.

What

The

_Fuck_.

* * *

The paternity test comes back positive. Ellen happily gives over the information about Matt’s son and sets up a time for them to meet.

Peter Parker. A few months shy of fifteen. Orphaned at _five_ , given to his paternal uncle and aunt, and then orphaned again a little over a week ago.

~~Sounded like a Murdock life~~

Matt…doesn’t entirely know how to react to that. He also has absolutely no idea what to _say_ to this child when, two days later, they’re given a meeting room at the child services building.

* * *

Peter is…small. Thin, light on his feet, heartbeat a war drum in his chest, hands fiddling with clothes too loose, the air puffing and shifting with every movement. Matt can’t name his colouring or say if they have the same facial structure without touch, but Matt had been a string bean all the way until his twenties when he’d finally filled out.

Matt has a son. A son standing right in front of him, shifting his weight and chewing his lip and starting to speak only to exhale abruptly.

“Hi, Peter. I’m your father.” Okay, maybe not the best opening line but probably better than standing in silence and no one ever said Matt isn’t a dork.

It earns a huff of laughter and muscles cooling a little as they unclench so maybe it isn’t a terrible first line.

“Hi. Glad to know my Star Wars references won’t go unnoticed. I, uh, there’s chairs? If you want to sit?”

Matt smiles, taps his cane until he finds the chair (reeks of metal and cleaner, colder than the one across from it. Peter had been sitting before Matt had stepped in.) Peter retook his seat after Matt and for a moment Matt just listens.

Peter’s heartbeat slows, but the kid’s still anxious, breathing in shallow little pants, near-silent but nails scraping against skin and the constant tiny creak of the metal as weight move give away his anxiety. The kid’s been eating, Matt can tell, but the carpet hadn’t given in enough when he’d been standing so he’s underweight somehow. Quick metabolism, maybe, or maybe leftover from his aunt and uncle. He doesn’t think they made a lot of money but-

Sharp acid hit Matt’s nose, the copper tang under it older than May and Ben Parker’s deaths but not old enough to really fade. Matt can’t place where the bruise or cuts are but figure they have to be under clothes if no one in a child service building has said something which _what_.

“Are they treating you alright?” Matt asks, probably too abruptly by the startled jolt and confused noises.

“Uh, what?”

“The foster parents. They’re taking care of you?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been best friends with Ned since I was six, so I’ve known Angel and Farah Leeds for ages.” No lie and he doesn’t seem nervous when they come up. Which means they hadn’t been the ones to hit him. Good. Very good, because otherwise, Daredevil would’ve left Hell’s Kitchen for an evening.

But it also leaves the question of who’d hurt Peter.

“I, uh, I googled you?” Peter says hesitantly. Matt drops the thought for now and hopes Foggy’s Facebook page is private, but smiles at Peter and waits for him to go on. “When I found out, I mean.” Peter makes a vague hand gesture before his face heats up abruptly and he hunches his shoulders. “Sorry, I made an arm movement. I meant about you being my, uh, _dad_.”

“It’s alright. Most people communicate non-verbally with their bodies and it’s hard to stop that. Foggy, my friend and business partner, does what you did and just verbalizes the action as well.” Peter unhunches a bit, which—good. Maybe Matt could dad alright. “Did child services tell you my name, then?”

Peter fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “I knew. That you were my biological dad. Found out a couple months ago.” At least Peter had a little more time to get used to the thought of this.

“Your aunt and uncle tell you the truth?” Peter’s heart skips, his breathing becoming ragged for a few breaths. Damnit Matt, _bad_ , no mentioning dead relatives. Shit, this is why he couldn’t parent.

“No,” Peter finally gets out after a few moments of Matt’s silent panicking. “My mom,” and there’s none of the pain and hurt, “left Aunt May a letter. I found it when I was looking for something in her desk. It mentioned you. I don’t know if May and Ben had ever planned on telling me. We didn’t talk about it.”

Ah, okay. So, small Peter Parker finds out he is not, in fact, a biological Parker and decides instead of talking about it with his guardians whom he was clearly close to, he should keep this knowledge to himself and settle for googling his biological father. That did not say great things about whether Matt could trust his son to come to him in need.

“Well, did google say anything interesting about me, at least? I hope whatever picture you found got my good side.” Another huff of laughter and the sharp, bitter scent of saltwater faded. Maybe Matt should start a scorecard for every time he makes Peter amused.

“Stuff about your law firm, mostly. I heard about the Fisk case on the news, of course, but I hadn’t recognized the name until I saw the articles. Kinda awesome that you helped put him away though.”

“Foggy and I just try to help. We want Hell’s Kitchen to be a better place. Besides, we mostly just negotiated the information exchange. DA Reyes did the actual putting him behind bars.”

“Still cool.” Peter takes a deep breath, scratching his neck a little. “I, uh, also found the articles from when you were a kid.” Ah. Yes. That. How could Matt have forgotten. “You’re pretty much a hero, for what happened with the old man.”

“Really not.” Matt shrugs, uncomfortable with the steady beat of Peter’s heart as he calls him a hero. Matt isn’t a hero and never will be. “I just did what anyone would do.”

“A lot of people keep walking when they see a crime.” And that, right there, raises all sorts of red flags. No kid should ever say anything with that sort of bitterness, that sort of steady certainty. Matt remembers again that Peter had been the one to find his aunt and uncle’s bodies, remembers the sharp bite of acid that means he has a bruise somewhere (and maybe Matt’s losing it because the scent seems a little lighter, now.) “You didn’t. Besides, you lost your dad a few months later, didn’t you? That-that must have been hard.” Peter’s voice quiets and he trails off a little. And the tears are back.

Holyshit, how does one comfort? What did Foggy do whenever Matt got dark and moody? Hold him, usually, but Matt doesn’t think Peter would be comfortable with a man he’d just met touching him. Draw parallels? Find common ground? Those were comforting strategies, right?

“I found his body,” Matt finally settles on, quietly. “I had to identify him.”

Peter’s heart stutters and Matt pretends he doesn’t know he’s crying, that he can’t tell Peter rubs his eyes and shifts his head down.

“Does it get easier? The nightmares an-and everything?”

Matt doesn’t really know the answer to that. Sometimes he still hears the gunshot ring, still feels cold skin under his hands. Sometimes he still feels the rage crawl up, bubbling under his skin until he’s pounding it out with his fists.

Sometimes, when he has blood on his knuckles and broken bones under his fingers

~~Never his~~

he remembers Jack Murdock telling him not to fight. To be smarter, to be better than the Murdocks before him.

But Matt’s son is looking for comfort and even though Matt won’t lie about this, he can settle for a partial truth.

“You learn to deal with it,” he finally says, just as quiet. “Learn ways to fall back asleep, to breathe through the panic. It just--it takes time.” Peter nods but doesn’t voice it. Matt waits, for the tears to stop, the breathing to even, for Peter to speak. He just waits.

“Is the foster system as bad as everyone says?”

“It’s flawed,” Matt speaks carefully, trying to figure out the jump in topic. “Like all systems are. But Peter, you’re not going into the system.”

“I, uh, I’m not?”

“Of course not. I won’t let that happen.” Peter’s heart jumps and Matt can’t figure out if it’s from surprise or worry so he leans forward, figures now’s as good a time as any for the real purpose of this visit. “Peter, if you decide you don’t want to stay with me, we’ll figure out somewhere you want to go and I’ll help make it happen.”

There’s a beat, the air filled with heartbeats and breaths and the crying baby down the hall and a woman screaming downstairs. Matt’s world is never silent but Peter doesn’t say anything so Matt lets him think.

“I hadn’t realized it was an option. Staying with you, I mean.”

That hurts. Probably more than it should considering Matt has no qualifications for parenthood and hadn’t known about Peter’s existence a few days ago but it still hurts. Now that Matt knows Peter is his, Matt has no plan on letting his son be alone.

“Peter.” Matt stops, trying to find a way to explain something so intrinsic to Matt. Peter is Matt’s son which makes him family which means Matt will protect him. _Always_. “Peter, I am in no way, shape or form, qualified to be a parent.” Okay, maybe too much raw honesty. “But I would very much like to get to know you, to figure out _how_ to be whatever you need. If you decide you want it, you will always have a place in my home. I also understand if you’re uncomfortable with staying with a man who, besides some blood, you have nothing in common with. Whatever you want to do, Peter, we’ll make it happen.”

There’s another hitch in breathing and Matt has a single moment to panic over making his son cry when Peter’s voice _breaks_ as he speaks. “Everyone near me dies.”

That hurts.

That _burns._

Because Matt-

~~Jack, Ben, Elena~~

~~Stick and Elektra might as well be dead~~

Matt gets that.

“I know the feeling.”

Peter gets a hold of himself, breathing for a little bit before speaking again. “Aunt May used to call it the Parker Luck. She’d hide pieces of amethyst and tiger’s eye in my school bag and room. Uncle Ben would always have to remind her it was against the police manual to bedazzle guns.”

Matt huffs his own laugh at that image. “Amethyst and tiger’s eye?”

“They’re used for luck. May would scatter them around the apartment, trying to get us some good luck for once.”

It takes Matt a moment to realize what that means before, “Peter, was your aunt a witch?”

“Yeah. Well, wicca and practicing witch. She taught me everything I know.” A witch. Matt’s son was a witch.

No. Okay. This is okay. Matt takes a breath and puts aside every ghost story, every nun lecture, everything his white catholic ass has ever heard about witches. It all goes into a neat mental box that he puts right next to the one labeled Elektra because Matt isn’t going to judge his son based on his beliefs. Matt is an ass, but he isn’t that kind of ass.

“Is, uh, is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay. I’m just catholic, so if you decide to stay with me, you’ll have to let me know what you need to, uh, practice? Is that what you said?”

Peter snickers and Matt adds it to the scorecard. “Yeah, that’s okay. I’ll try not to do anything to scare your catholic delicacies.”

“Appreciated.”

The conversation shifts to lighter topics and Matt does his best to find out about Peter’s school (freshman at Midtown School of Science, there on a scholarship and Matt will do _anything_ to make sure he stays there if he moves to Hell’s Kitchen with Matt), his friends (Ned Leeds and recently a girl he calls MJ), his interests and hobbies (science, Star Wars, Academic Decathlon and something else Peter lies about but Matt leaves alone, for now).

By the time Madam and Mrs. Leeds (as Peter calls them) come back to pick him up, they’ve spent several hours talking, and Matt-

Matt has a son.

A son who hugs him, when Ellen lets them know their time is up. A son who murmurs into his chest, arms hard with muscle that surprises Matt, that he would very much like to live with him.

Matt says he’ll get the paperwork started.

* * *

Foggy worries. This doesn’t surprise Matt in the least, especially considering this involves a valid fear that Matt himself ~~panicked~~ thought about. This fear has less to do with Matt though and more to do with Daredevil. The problem with Daredevil follows thusly;

Hell’s Kitchen needs Daredevil because Daredevil keeps crime rates down and helps innocent people. He stopped a woman from being stabbed just last night. These were good things. These were things that needed to keep happening.

(Unsaid went that Matt didn’t know how to function without Daredevil, didn’t know how to put away the cowl and move on. It didn’t need to be said.)

However, Daredevil got injured. A lot. Less now that he had the suit, but he still met the occasional grazed bullet or stab wound. Death very occasionally came up as an option before seemingly deciding to postpone the inevitable. These were not good things. These were in fact terrible things. But these terrible things became a hundred times worse when factoring in Matt’s (Daredevil’s) son.

Peter stayed with the Leeds over the next month while paperwork was filed but Peter and Matt also did their best to see each other often or, failing that, at least call every day. Matt helped Peter deal with the funeral arrangements, packing his apartment and putting most of the things in storage, and just generally grieving. Matt knew exactly how hard Peter took the death of his aunt and uncle and a part of him ached to know another child had been orphaned. The rest of him just felt guilty for making the risk of Peter being orphaned a _third_ time more likely.

Hence Foggy worrying.

Matt tried to stop going out. He really did. But when he could hear the woman two blocks away being raped, or the sixteen-year-old being held at gunpoint, he couldn’t do nothing. He had a son now and he would be damned if he didn’t try to make the world a better place for him. It didn’t help that Peter kept smelling of bitter bruises and harsh copper. He wouldn’t tell Matt that he’d gotten into fights or even that he’d been hurt, but Matt could tell. And so Matt kept going out, even when the silences with Foggy became tense again. He compromised by doing fewer hours, being more careful of the idiots with weapons. Daredevil had to help protect the city, but he could watch out for himself while he did it.

Of course, that all seemed moot when Daredevil found out he wasn’t the only vigilante out at night.

* * *

In Peter’s defense, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. He needed to know how quickly he could get from Hell’s Kitchen to other parts of the city (and specifically Queens). And what harm could saying hello to Daredevil do? Peter just had to let him know that at times, Peter would be helping out.

What Peter didn’t account for was that he was a Murdock and like father like son.

* * *

In mid-April, spring had made a full appearance, with fresh flowers, sunshine, and warm winds. Sadly, mid-April also meant a lot of rainfall, which is why on one Friday evening, Peter’s trip to Hell’s Kitchen involved stopping a lot of slips on the still wet sidewalks from the shower earlier in the day. It took him a while to get there, but twenty-five minutes still made him faster than the average car.

More importantly, when Peter got into the neighborhood, it doesn’t even take that long to find Daredevil. Mostly because every hair on his body stands on end and every part of him wants to _run_ (he’d looked into it and apparently spiders could use body hair to hear (!) for up to three miles which were one of the ways they sensed danger; somehow, his spider danger sense translated into not just sound, but basic instinct). This instinct to _run, hide, danger_ usually told him where he could be of help. Or where there was a wet spot on the floor. Either way, Peter follows where his senses tell him to stay away from, and soon enough his ears and eyes find the issue.

Three men in black ski masks are robbing a bodega on the corner. Peter can just make out someone in red crashing through the window, stick flying, from three blocks away. With a twist of his wrist, Peter swings himself up and over the already broken window, releasing his web and rolling into the fall like he’s seen gymnasts do.

(Maybe he should try doing gymnastics. Might help with the vigilanting. And Matt probably wouldn’t mind—wait, no focus, Peter.)

Inside Daredevil has already taken down one man, leg lashing out towards the second. Peter registers the gun in the third’s hand right before he takes aim at a group of civilians huddled in the corner. He flicks his wrist, web catching on the weapon and flinging it with a simple motion. Peter holds back his strength, but a single punch is still enough to knock him out.

Turning around, Daredevil had already dealt with the other guys, so Peter webs them up. Someone has dialed 911, so he focuses on Daredevil instead.

“Hey, nice going. Glad I got here in time to help.”

“ _What are you doing here_?” Wow, heavy voice, much growl. Good to know all the rumors about Daredevil gargling glass are true.

“Oh, you know. Just a vigilante helping another out. I actually wanted to talk to you, don’t suppose you’re scheduled for a break anytime soon?”

Daredevil, in response, fucks right out the window.

“Could’ve just said no.” Peter slings a web to the building across the street, just barely catching a woman asking “Can he _fly_?” as he does.

On the roof, he takes a second to breathe and watch as the cops finally show up. Peter isn’t familiar with any of the cops in Queens, much less the ones in Hell’s Kitchen, but everything seems to be going okay, at least.

“What are you _doing_?”

Peter whirls, heart leaping into his throat. His danger sense hadn’t gone off, which, great? That means Daredevil doesn’t want to hurt him.

(He thinks.)

Less great—Daredevil staring him down, suit’s eyes crimson.

“Oh, wow. Nice to meet you Mr. Daredevil, sir. Uh, officially, I mean.” Peter makes a vague gesture towards the bodega. Daredevil’s jaw twitches.

“Why are you out on the streets?”

“Well, I’m on a roof right now.” Daredevil takes a deep breath, hands clenching. Peter figures that means stop avoiding the question. “I’m a vigilante, like you. Well, no, not like you. I don’t have enough media coverage to have a name and everyone seems to get names from the coverage, like you and Iron Man so I figure I’d just wait instead of coming up with my own. Like a rite of passage, ya know?”

“ _Stop_ it.”

Peter pauses, head tilting at the harsh tone. Something about Daredevil seems familiar—the hand clenching, the slope of the shoulders, the smell of dull aftershave and unscented soap—but the voice is all wrong and Peter has a limited number of people in his life that can fit the gender and age range.

“Uh, stop what, exactly?”

“Being a vigilante. It’s not safe, and you’ll get yourself killed.”

Peter stills, the itch beneath his skin crawling up his throat, going from warm to sizzling. He pushes it down, reminds himself of Ben’s last words, takes a breath.

“You do it. Besides, I’m capable. Helped you out tonight, didn’t I?”

“You’re not even fifteen yet!” Daredevil snaps. He runs a hand over his mouth right after, taking a step back as if to distance himself from the words.

Too late, Peter thinks. Too God damned late.

Peter doesn’t have many people that fit Daredevil’s age and gender but-

But he has one.

“ _Matt_?!”

Daredevil—Matt, _his dad_ —spits out a curse, turning on his heels. Bites out a “Follow” and takes a running leap to the next roof over.

Peter listens.

* * *

They ended up at Matt’s apartment. Peter has been before, to decorate his room and just hang out. It feels different, now, with the billboard painting it in sharp splashes of crimson and maroon, sending everything into fire.

Somehow, seeing Daredevil standing in it, sent the entire world spinning and colliding again.

Like finding out he wasn’t a Parker.

Like seeing his aunt and uncle dead in front of him.

“You’re _Daredevil_?!”

“And you’re a vigilante!”

They both pause, take in deep heaving breaths. Peter’s skin burned and cooled, fire and ice. Matt hadn’t told him

~~Peter hadn’t said anything~~

about this, probably wouldn’t have at all if they hadn’t run into each other. Something about this is good though. It means Peter has someone to teach him, someone

~~he wouldn’t lie to~~

to show him how to be a real hero, to help people.

“You have to stop,” Matt bites out, throwing his helmet across the room, pacing in sharp bursts. Peter makes a choking noise, protests bubbling in his throat. Matt keeps going. “You could get hurt, Pete, _killed_. I’m not going to lose you to a street thug because you wanted a thrill.”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Peter manages to get out around the magma in his mouth, “Don’t you dare suggest this is just a cheap thrill. I’m out there helping people-”

“You’re a child!”

“I have powers!” Matt goes still and Peter can’t breathe, feels like his asthma is closing his lungs, tightening his throat. He doesn’t have asthma anymore though.

~~The spider made sure of that.~~

“I can stick to walls, and I have spinnerets in my wrists and I have super strength and all my senses are dialed up to, like, a million. Matt—Matt I _can’t stop_. I heard an old woman get mugged a block and a half away and I couldn’t ignore it. She _cried_ when I got her purse back to her because she had her son’s medication in it. There’s a trans girl at my school who got her gaff stolen in gym and thrown on top of the roof. I can _help_ these people! I have to, Matt.” Peter’s chest heaves, breaths coming in pants. He tries to pull back, to do his old breathing exercises like May showed him to, but the world narrows to Matt, standing across from him with his fists tight and mouth pressed thin, shoulders curled inward. Peter can’t regulate his air intake, it doesn’t matter, not when Matt could try to stop this, stop _Peter_ , from doing what he has to do. “Please, Matt. I can’t let my city stay like this.”

~~With great power comes great responsibility.~~

“You-” Matt makes a choking sound, pulling his hair at the roots. “You just destroyed my entire belief system in nurture vs. nature.” A laugh, hysterical and quiet, bubbled up from Peter. “When Foggy found out, I made almost the exact same argument. Minus the spinnerets, thing. Are you part spider?”

“Uh, I haven’t had the chance to test my DNA since, but a couple months ago I got bit by what I guess is a radioactive spider. Or genetically altered, not really sure. So, um, yeah? I little, I mean.”

“My son is part spider. And uses his spider powers to fight crime.” Matt buries his head in his hands, screams a little before coming back up for air. “Okay.” A deep breath. Another, and a third. The entire room stills, Matt tilting his head watching Peter, as impossible as it is.

(He must have powers.)

( ~~Peter isn’t alone~~.)

“I hate this,” Matt says quietly, but his shoulders slump and he gives a slow nod. Something in Peter’s chest burns and twists, matching Matt’s twitching jaw and clenched hands. “Okay. I am going to make you hot chocolate. And then we are going to have a conversation like _adults_ to discuss-” he waves his arm between them, “ _this_.”

Does he mean…?

“There will be conditions,” Matt goes on, but all Peter can hear in the resigned sigh is victory.

Matt startles, a little, when Peter hugs him. They hadn’t done it much, both dancing around the family thing they were meant to be doing. But after a moment Matt breaths out and wraps his arms around Peter, holding him close and tucking him under Matt’s chin. This close, Peter can hear the heavy beat of Matt’s heart, feel the small tremor in the hands that runs through Peter’s hair.

It feels like a promise.

It feels like a start.

“Thanks, Dad.”

* * *

Matt hates the conditions. Mostly because conditions mean that his _son_

(his son is enhanced, different, a _vigilante_ )

would be out on the streets, fighting crime and getting hurt. But Matt didn’t need to hear Peter’s heart to know he wouldn’t be backing down from this, wouldn’t be stopping. Better that he went out with Matt then in secret.

After talking well into the morning, negotiating (Peter could be a great lawyer) and coming to compromises, they finally settle on a list of rules. The next afternoon, Peter shows up with a USB key and printed out the list in both ink and braille.

It reads;

**Murdock Mandates**

Breaking of thy Mandates shall lead to thou being grounded.

Thou shall not go out without parental knowledge.

Thou shall not hide any injury from thy parent.

Thou shall wear thy suit at all times.

Thou shall not fall behind on schoolwork.

When out, thou shall obey all directives from thy parent.

Peter, Matt now knew, is a little shit.

They put it on the fridge.

* * *

Melvin, Peter finds out, is the _coolest_. He works out of an old garage, metal and fabric everywhere, machines littering the space. He stares a little to Peter’s left, but asks if he really wants to do this.

Peter tells him that it isn’t a matter of want. It’s a matter of responsibility.

Melvin takes the suit measurements.

Matt makes Peter promise not to go out until the suit gets completed, so they spend the week training at Fogwell’s.

(Matt doesn’t cry when he tells Peter about his dad, doesn’t say anything except remind Peter not to telegraph his punches when he has to choke back anything more when he lets slip the name Elektra. Peter doesn’t ask.)

~~He just wonders~~.

The suit, when they finally get the call that Melvin finished, is _perfect_.

The same dark red as Daredevil’s suit made up most of it, but thin, black rods, like piping on pillows, webbed through the arms and legs. The helmet is completely black save for the crimson points that close around his jaw like pincers, leaving only his lips—his _teeth_ —visible. It even has its own set of horns that a hood snaps into. And to complete the masterpiece; a black spider spread shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip across his chest.

Dressed in it, gloves positioned so his spinnerets are free

(Melvin obeyed his every request)

he feels powerful, complete. The burn beneath his skin ready to crawl out and take over. His dad, Daredevil suit on, devil in his blood, grins.

Peter bares his teeth in answer.

Time to go hunting.

* * *

**New Vigilante in NYC; Prince of Hell hits the streets**

_By James Henricks, Reporter for New York Bulletin, April 14_ _ th _ _, 2015_

In the past year, Daredevil has made headlines time and time again for being Hell’s Kitchen’s own vigilante. He’s credited for stopping robberies, rapes, criminal assault, and, in one memorial instance, for taking down Kingpin Wilson Fisk. While first official reports put him as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen in November 2014, an anonymous source admits to being saved from the Man in the Mask as early as July of that year. But never, in all of that time, has he been seen with someone else.

That all changed last night. The 13th found itself wet and cold as another thunderstorm rolled into New York City. On the docks of Hell’s Kitchen, the Neta Association, a gang known for its drug trade in the Puerto Rico prison system, used the cover of the storm to bring in seven kilos of cocaine. While the NYPD has chosen not to comment on whether they were aware of the incoming shipment or not, it matters little because Daredevil put a stop to it. This time, not alone.

While the full events at the docks are unknown, we know the results. Twenty men, each armed with semi-automatic weapons, were found beaten and bloody, tied up in what the NYPD reports to be “an unidentified substance.” A call from one of the gang member’s phone dropped the tip for the police to come “pick up these asshats” and their “bullshit drugs”. The caller did not identify themselves, though Kelly Lynn, 911 operative, reports that the voice sounded different than Daredevil’s and had different mannerisms.

Five minutes later, Mike Mezeul II, celebrated photographer, reports that he took the following photo two blocks from the drug shipment.

[Photo ID: Taken on the ground but aimed up, the image shows the ocean on the right, black in the night and crashing against the docks. Above, the New York skyline is lit up by purple and gray clouds. In the left fore, on the roof of a warehouse, two figures are lit clearly by a flash of gold lightning as they run perpendicular to the camera. One is clearly Daredevil, red and black, horns and all. The other is shorter by a few inches, arm extended above them as they seemingly fly over the roof. They wear a red suit, webbed with black and a symbol on their chest partially hidden by the angle they are turned. A hood spreads around the head, little points that might be horns barely visible.]

The conclusion seems obvious; Daredevil has an apprentice.

While statements from the arrested gang members weren’t possible, Sargent Brett Mahoney of the 15th Precinct (known for the rearrest of Wilson Fisk with Daredevil’s aid) had this to say; “I’ve seen Daredevil’s usual guys. He can take down five, ten guys with broken bones and painful concussions. Brutal, but efficient. But a lot of the guys from last night had minimal broken bones. A few noses, sure, but nothing like Daredevil’s work. What they did have was a lot of cracked ribs, and pulled muscles from being tied up in painful positions. Whoever Daredevil is working with, they use their fists and these weird ropes to work. Makes their job harder and I have no doubt they got smacked around a lot for the trouble.”

We don’t know who this new vigilante is, but the size discrepancy and Kelly Lynn’s report of used slang make it seem likely this vigilante is younger than Daredevil, perhaps a college student. Powers are also unconfirmed. The ropes might be biological or chemical, the flying might be true or simply the angle of the photo. Little is known except for this;

Hell’s Kitchen has a new devil walking its streets.

* * *

**Hero Finder (@maskwatchnyc):** sending out the call. Any other sightings of #beelzebub? I want to see my very own Prince of Hell.

**BigDD (@marrymedaredevil):** @maskwatchnyc, what’s up with #beelzebub? Prince of Hell not catchy enough?

**Hero Finder (@maskwatchnyc):** @marrymedaredevil Beelzebub is one of the princes of hell, sometimes called Lord of the Flyers. Also the Prince of Gluttony and #beelzebub seems to be a glutton for punishment. Seemed appropriate.

**Iron Lady (@femtonystark):** @maskwatchnyc, #daredevil and #beelzebub sighting, 10th and 40th.

**Lexia (@lexiadoescosplay):** @maskwatchnyc @femtonystark #beelzebub looks like a cobra with that hood.

**Hero Finder (@maskwatchnyc):** @lexiadoescosplay true, but I think that’s actually a spider on his chest? It looked a bit like dragonfly wings in the photo from @nycbulletin, but @femtonystark got a better angle.

**Daily Bulletin (@nycbulletin):** @maskwatchnyc @lexiadoescosplay @femtonystark, recent police reports believe the previously unidentified substance to be organic in nature. Considering the photo and incoming reports, it seems #beelzebub can actually produce webs, like a spider.

**Hero Finder (@maskwatchnyc):** @nycbulletin did you just tell me my bb #beelzebub is actually a spiderman?

**Beelzebub (@realspiderman):** @maskwatchnyc I think I resent being called a bb.

**Hero Finder (@maskwatchnyc):** @realspiderman HOLYSHIT ARE YOU FOR REAL??????

**Beelzebub (@realspiderman):** @maskwatchnyc yes I really do resent being called bb <3.

* * *

“You should really start a Twitter, Double-D. Watching them all freak out when they realize an actual vigilante is talking to them is hilarious.”

“BZ, I’m not doing that. _You_ shouldn’t be doing that. What happens if the cops try to track you through your, like, web address or whatever.”

“Do you—you mean _IP_ address right? Holyshit, how old are you?”

“Don’t even start.”

“I thought you were cracking your knuckles earlier, but that was really just your joints popping, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t talk to your elders this way. It’s disrespectful.”

“Whatever you say grandpa. And don’t worry, I scramble my IP.” A beat of silence. “You have no idea what that means do you?”

“Assault, three men, a block south.”

“We’re not done with this."

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on my tumblr at https://kilannad.tumblr.com/


End file.
